Spring Lock
by Lake of Rage
Summary: Oneshot. FNaF 3 spoilers! "I was standing right under a steady stream of water now, but I honestly couldn't care less. Fat drops of water slid down the inside of the suit, slipping into its crevices; plopping onto the spring lock. Click." The end of FNaF 3 from Purple Guy's perspective. T for gore, violence, and angst.


_...*ahem*._

 _GET READY TO RUMBLLLLLLLE!_

 _...with the following completely pure angst and horror crap that is one-hundred-percent NOT for the light of heart._

 _Seriously. Beware. There's some mentioned child abuse, a lot of gore at the end, some brief flashbacks of brutal murders of children, and it's all written from a psychotic serial killer's point of view._

 _To be honest, this was simultaneously a venting piece for me to get rid of some of the darkness that lurks inside my demented excuse for a brain, my experimentation with the_ Five Nights at Freddy's _series since I haven't written for it before,_ and _some practice for POV. I've always thought it was fun to play around with different POVs and see what differs between them, but I don't think I've ever gotten the chance to write from the POV of a willingly disgusting murderer. Although I have gone the_ un _willing murderer route before. Quite a bit, actually. And in school papers a lot, too. My teachers probably worry about me._

 _ _In any case, please enjoy! ...er, "enjoy" isn't the right word. More like "suffer through". But try to enjoy anyway!__

* * *

 **Spring Lock**

 _Oh God, oh God, oh God._

How were they here? _Why_ were they here? This was impossible. This was _impossible._ They were dead. I had killed them myself; had slowly dragged the shimmer of a knife against their skin and drained the beautiful blood from each child's limp and lifeless body until there was nothing left. Nothing but me, laughing as waves of pleasure rolled through my stomach and idly twirling my weapon of choice between my fingers.

And now they were _here._

Their forms were grotesque and only vaguely human; their figures were obscene and disgusting in a perfect way. Despite myself, I felt the familiar thrum of excitement in my gut, adrenalin already bubbling up to my skin, and I licked my lips, feeling a familiar sadistic grin flicker across my face. Reason screamed that I should be petrified of the inexplicable spectres. I'd long since gotten used to ignoring it.

I could remember each victim perfectly, and my first was not there. In some ways, I suppose, I was relieved that the first hadn't shown, because that had been my sloppiest kill. As ashamed as I am to admit it, I had been uncertain then, still not assured that this was okay (because everyone else was blind and said this was sick and horrific and scary; poor fools didn't know what they were missing), but then I had felt the thrill of the hunt; the delicious reward of tears and begging and blood. That was when I'd known that this was my calling just as some are called to be doctors or engineers.

Still, though, I couldn't help but wish that the familiar black-haired child would appear. In a way that even I recognized as demented, that child had been my savior; my _first_. The one who had rescued me from the stagnant passivity of my old life. Almost as if I'd lost my virginity to the young boy. There was no going back, but I didn't _want_ to go back.

Because, oh, it felt so _good_ to take such utter control; to hold even the very life of another in your hands and slowly let it slip away. It gave me such a rush of adrenalin to nonchalantly amble after the fleeing mice; made me feel so intelligent to predict with nigh perfect accuracy where each would attempt to hide. Made me feel so _powerful_ as I offered them a brief, convincing facsimile of freedom before tearing it out from under them, watching the realization bleed across their faces that they were helpless here and watching their life bleed across the floor until they were cold and motionless. I still associated their faces with those lovely emotions, and I felt a repeat of each one flash by me now.

So I didn't cry out as I probably should have. I just let a short chuckle rumble up from my chest, letting the familiar sound mingle with the _pitter patter_ of rain pounding on the roof above and dripping through the many leaks that the unattended pizzeria sported.

Then they moved.

For the first time in a long time, panic clawed violently up my chest and my breath hitched mid-chortle. I'd been sure that I was just seeing things; that, perhaps, this was my reward for imparting my art to the world. Maybe that they were even here to thank me; I certainly deserved it. But now they were moving, their mangled limbs moving in grotesque ways I could never imagine on my own, and they didn't look very grateful.

' _Calm down,'_ I coached myself mentally, steadying myself with deep breaths. Assured that I was overreacting, I closed my eyes and thought of crumbling bones and the squelch of flesh under my patient expertise. Now sufficiently calmed, I once again opened my eyes and— my heart skipped at least two or three beats.

One was moving right for me.

The other four were simply drifting along the walls, eyes trained on me and burning with a near-incomprehensible hate (Why hate? I didn't get it). But one of them—the blonde boy, I realized—was purposefully striding towards me, his split lip

 _My metal-encased fist collides roughly with the child's face, and the felt meant to soften the suit's ridges doesn't stop the boy's lip from splitting._

pulling back in a mix between a sneer and a snarl. I remembered how this boy died—laying limp as if to play dead (ha!); jaw hanging open in a silent scream as his bones snapped. Rushes of euphoria usually accompanied each flashback of my art, but this one was swallowed by a wave of fear.

Swallowing down my indecision, I convulsively took a step back. My custom purple uniform shoes, well-worn but cared for, scuffed loudly against the checkerboard tile. Egged on, though I couldn't tell what could be fueling him, the spirit stepped forward with mechanical motion, as if he was—

A shudder ran down my spine.

—as if he was an animatronic.

The ghost stepped forward and I took an immediate step back in response, unable to stop the movement. ' _Calm down,'_ I snapped at myself once again, foot splashing into a shallow puddle. No longer amused by my predicament, I angrily shook drops of moisture off of my leg. I was better than this. After all, I'd spent the past however-long dealing with these kids; I couldn't decide to start being scared _now_. Especially since they were intangible at this point; just figments of my overactive imagination.

With an inhuman screech that legitimately stopped my heart ( _Oh God oh God oh God_ ), the child flew towards me, fingers outstretched as if to wrap themselves around my neck.

All ration went out the window.

An undignified, throaty yell tore its way up from my chest and I swallowed it just as violently, turning it into an equally pathetic whimper. ' _Man up! Calm down!'_ But I couldn't. Scrambling backwards proved useless, because the ghost was _fast;_ unreasonably so. Not that ghosts were reasonable in the first place. Wheeling around, I made a beeline for the back of the room, hoping to find one of my weapons; maybe even get into a suit (' _No, you idiot; it's raining. It'll kill you.'_ ).

One of the others was already behind me.

Face-to-face with a disfigured brunette, I cried out again, throwing up my hands to protect my face. A dissonant, cruel laugh seemed to dance around my ears in slow-motion, taunting me. ' _No way.'_ Denial ran rampant through my brain as I tried to rationalize this away. Splayed fingers reached for my face

 _I shattered the boy's fingers one by one as his screams and frantic pleas bubbled away into mad, desperate laughter mixed with choked sobs. I didn't kill the kid yet; didn't want the other four to see this one die._

and I backpedaled, whirling around once again only to be met with yet another hovering image. Tousled violet hair atop a pale, freckled face—it was the second of my victims; the first of these five to die. This kill, too, I remembered in gritty detail; it was such a shame to kill a kid with such good taste in color, but work was work, so I had to suck it up. Peeking out from behind his fingers,

 _Cowering in the corner was a scruff of purple hair and red clothing trying its best to hide in his office. Smirking, I closed the doors, watching tearful eyes flash out from behind the kid's hands and dart to my looming figure; hearing the boy whimper out some forgotten plea._

the boy smiled almost eerily, but his eyes remained vicious and accusing. ' _Ungrateful brat,'_ my mind hissed as I lunged for my knife despite my reluctance to turn my back to the spirits. As my fingers curled around it, a chill in the shape of _oh God_ a handprint pressed into my arm and, this time, my mind screamed ' _Run!'_

I obeyed, skittering across the tile ' _Calm down, calm down,'_ and nearly running headfirst into a faltering vision of another blonde, this one female, looking up at me with dead blue eyes and what might've otherwise been a comical smear of pink frosting on her face. My third victim; the one who'd almost succeeded in hiding from me.

Desperate to regain control ' _You're the adult here!'_ and still reeling, I spun the knife in my hand once out of sheer habit, then hastily slashed through the transient hovering figure in front of me. To my immense relief, the blade cut almost too easily, and the blonde dissipated like mist. Confidence welled back up inside me as I heaved out a sigh, turning about my heel and letting my usual grin take its rightful place again. I could kill these things. They were just as weak as they had been as pitiful humans.

I blinked. When my eyelids opened after that split second, the blonde was in front of me again, unharmed; still gazing with bright blue eyes and _still with that damn streak of frosting, undisturbed._

With a bit-off guttural moan, I discarded the knife, my limbs shaking uncontrollably. It hit the ground with an audible _clang_

 _Pots and pans clattered to my right, followed quickly by a high-pitched, horrified gasp, and I laughed cruelly, stepping into the darkness of the kitchen and making my way towards the trembling silhouette I'd almost missed._

and I jumped at the sudden noise even though I'd been the one to drop the knife in the first place. I took one quivering step back, body lurching at the simple movement, and—okay, there was a nail at the back of my tongue that I should probably not swallow, but I swallowed it anyways and felt it switch places with my heart, weighing heavily in my chest while a too-fast tattoo rumbled in my throat.

I blinked, and there it was; the beaten body that was the second-to-last of the bunch to die. His long, disheveled auburn hair covered one eye, but the other one was an impossibly bright green star that left flashing after-images on my field of vision when I blinked. He wasted no time, his broken jaw falling open in a shriek as he lunged

 _Kid was_ fast, _I had to admit, but I tracked him to Pirate's Cove and drew back the curtain, knife at the ready, only for him to tackle me with a desperate battle cry. After he got in one solid left hook to my cheek, I snapped, throwing his body to the ground and striking until he was mottled with bruises, his hand and jaw broken and his eye gouged out. The nerve of him!_

for my neck, useless fingers proving not-so useless for the fleeting instant they cut off my airflow before I stumbled back and the rest of his body became fog, drifting away.

 _Oh God oh God oh God run run hide don't wanna die oh God oh God oh_

As I ran, my toe struck something and I stumbled, automatically looking down to see what dared impede me.

Spring Bonnie.

Without thinking twice, I hauled the suit up and shook it to dislodge some clinging dew. I certainly preferred Spring Freddy, but you know what they say about desperate times and desperate measures. Thanking God that I always kept a crank in both suits for hasty transformation, I frantically turned and slid in almost before the familiar _click_ of the spring lock fastening met my ears. The suit was a comfort; familiar in a time of fear much like a safety blanket. Even as I grabbed the helmet and shoved it into place, fond memories drifted lazily through my mind: pizza parties, birthday cakes, and more art-making. A few bad memories assaulted them, threatening to take away my sudden peace—

 _I flinch and whimper as Mommy's open palm flashes across Big Brother's face and he falls with a cry. But I don't try to stop her because I don't want her to hurt me. I love Big Brother. But if I try to look out for anyone but myself, then I just end up getting beaten worse. So I watch and flinch and whimper as Mommy hits and hits and hits Big Brother until Big Brother is cold and motionless._

—but I easily countered them with memories of Mommy taking me out for ice cream afterward and Mommy saying _sorry_ to Daddy when he gets home and Daddy not hitting Mommy because _don't ever hit a lady, son_ (sorry, Daddy). And then New Big Brother getting a piece of pizza for me even though he's not supposed to and New Daddy and New Mommy hitting him until he's cold and motionless but me smiling because they didn't take away my pizza.

Conjuring up those thoughts and similar ones, I felt my happiness flood back into my mind. Pride quickly followed. ' _You outsmarted them again, and this time they were ghosts,'_ my mind praised, and I laughed long and loud; felt that familiar thrum of excitement roll through my stomach once again because I was Daddy, now, and no one could ever stop me. I knew how to operate this suit safely. I knew how to move and how not to move and how to breathe without the moisture of my breath making the lock undo.

My laughs intensified and I threw out my hand in a mocking point, recklessly sashaying towards the spirits even though exaggerated movements were best avoided in the spring suit. I was standing right under a steady stream of water now, but I honestly couldn't care less. Fat drops of water slid down the inside of the suit, slipping into its crevices; plopping onto the spring lock.

 _Click._

Twisted pieces of metal shot into my limbs, prying my bones apart; twisting my limbs out of socket; crushing my tender flesh underneath their unrelenting push.

I screamed.

 _Oh God oh God oh God._

My body tried to collapse, but the animatronic pieces inched ever closer, keeping me locked upright. I teetered and fell against the wall, waist bending and only jolting the beams further into my body.

"Oh, God!"

I writhed frantically, screams and sobs still pulling themselves out of my throat even as it pooled with blood. Each twist only served to worsen my position. Agony was a friendly way of putting it; it was all-encompassing, and I didn't remember where I was or what I was doing or even my own name; only _pain pain pain oh God._

"Oh, _God!"_

Soon, I couldn't move my lower body at all, the devices there having persisted in literally demolishing the bones and tearing the muscles and tendons away. They were still twisting into place in my arms and face, continuing to cement me into place further and further.

" _Get it off!"_

My wrists and hands tore off entirely, wires and metal mashing them to a pulp, and my arms soon followed.

" _ **GET IT OFF!"**_

Ribs spread like a bird's wings to make way and I could barely suck in a tiny breath; not enough to satisfy my lungs as they screamed for more.

"Help…"

It was barely a whisper, broken by terrible, choked sobs and the guttural, wet tearing of flesh. For some reason, I wanted to be comforted by the sound, but I didn't know why the sound of death would please me. I knew _OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD PAIN PAIN_ _ **MAKE IT STOP!**_

"Please… someone…"

Sharp devices pressed against the junction of my jaw, edging in with an almost gleeful malice and pulling my skull apart, painstakingly slow.

" _God, please…"_

It popped out of socket, then split violently from the rest of my head, resting snugly in the animatronic face and forcing the mangled remains of my mouth into a mocking, painful rictus of a smile.

The last thing I saw was a shimmer as five translucent figures faded from sight and vanished, leaving behind only four animatronic heads, collapsed in on themselves and cast deep with shadows.

* * *

 _Can you feel it?_ _Can you feel the ANGST?_

 _...'cause I can._

 _And, yes, you did just read that. Sucker. And, yes, I did just write that. Demented, twisted, disturbed lunatic._

 _In any case, I actually don't mind the Springtrap animatronic. The Purple Guy who possesses it, however, I absolutely despise._


End file.
